“May it?” muttered Learmont. “It shall. I am not one who brooks delays. I have paid dearly for my baronetcy, and I will have it. Those six seats have cost me thrice their sums in thousands—ay, more than that. There can indeed be no doubt of the gracious intentions of his Majesty; that business is settled. I am to all intents and purposes even now a baronet—I have paid the price, and, thank the Fates, this is a country where all things have a price, nobility included; and now, how much longer am I to be tortured by these rascals, Gray and Britton? My bitterest curses on them both. Gray’s demands increase each time he comes here; his love of gold is insatiable, and he never relaxes in his caution. How on earth to cope with that man I know not. Must I ever be the victim of his avarice until some day he dies, leaving behind him that which might condemn me? No; this must, cannot last. Too long already have I groaned under the weight of this man’s hideous presence, and frequent visits. Some bold or hazardous scheme must rid me of him; and, too, he peremptorily refuses aught to do with the destruction of Britton. He thinks the job too dangerous, and taunts me with the sneer that he gets of me already what gold he chooses to demand. Jacob Gray, beware. Some accident may yet arise to place you at my mercy—my mercy? Ha! Ha! Oh, if I could invent some torture—some—Ha! What now?” “Master Gray desires speech of your worship,” said a servant. In a moment Gray entered the room. Anxiety of mind, and the necessity of constant caution, had had all their effect upon Jacob Gray. He stooped considerably, and moved along with a slow, silent, shuffling tread, as if he feared the very sound of his own footsteps would betray him. He peered into the face of Learmont from his half-closed eyes, and then gently sliding to a seat, he said, in a half whisper,— “Well, squire, how fares it with you?” “Indifferently well, Jacob Gray,” said Learmont. “You look pale and ill.” “No, no!” said Gray, quickly, “I’m very well, quite well and strong. I shall have many years to live yet, I am quite well and strong.” “Your looks belie you then; your hands tremble; you are weak, Jacob Gray.” “And yet so strong,” said Gray, trembling, his small eyes fixed at Learmont, “that those who would destroy me dare not lay a finger on me in violence!” “I understand your taunt,” said Learmont; “it has long been settled between us that I dare not take your life, Jacob Gray. But even now, will nothing tempt you to conclude a business which is slowly but sorely hurrying you to the grave?” “Squire Learmont,” said Gray calmly, “it may be hurrying me to my grave, but I do not wish to avoid the hurry by being at once placed in it; I may be ill, but I am not yet disposed to take death as a remedy. You understand me, Squire Learmont?” “’Twere needless to affect to be ignorant of your meaning; you think that I would be so foolish as to run the great risk of not letting you go in peace.”